


Kiss the demons out of my dreams

by Tovarich



Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Good Omens Celebration 2020, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovarich/pseuds/Tovarich
Summary: Aziraphale wanted Crowley to feel safe by his side, and if that meant he would have to reassure his love every night without ever knowing the content of his nightmares, then so be it. But he would still keep on asking, every night this happened.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727137
Kudos: 91
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	Kiss the demons out of my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for the 4th day of the Good Omens Celebration 2020 event is "Force". I used the word in the sense of "coercion". Please read the tags. I don't think that there's anything too graphic, but I would really hate for anyone to be triggered by something I wrote. That said, I hope you'll enjoy reading it.
> 
> The title is from "Give me novocain" by Green Day

Despite walking through one of the less crowded hallways of Hell, Crowley still found it difficult to make his way toward his destination. Hell had no respect for personal space, and so, ugly, dirty demons were continually bumping into him. The warmth and smell of the place created an oppressive atmosphere. Crowley only hoped he would be able to go back to Earth soon. He missed having enough space to move freely, the fresh air filling his lungs, the deliciously warm sensation of the sun on his skin. But it seemed like some other demons wanted to delay his return to the surface of his beloved blue planet. They pushed him against a filthy wall, pining him there so that he couldn't move at all. Crowley didn't know how many they were, but it didn't matter anyway. The other demons didn't pay any attention to what was happening, and when they did, it was to chuckle at the scene or throw an insult at the group of demons blocking the way. It seemed like no one would come to help him, unsurprisingly.

Crowley had no idea what the demons wanted, he had no idea what he had done to them. To be honest, he didn't even remember ever meeting them before. But that too didn't matter, because one of them punched him square in the stomach, causing Crowley to bend over. A hand pulled his long copper hair, forcing him to look at his aggressors. Tears stung his eyes because of the throbbing pain in his scalp. The attackers all looked blurry, but it didn't matter. Even before that, Crowley hadn't been able to really distinguish anything other than ominous, dark silhouettes. They spoke in mocking voices, but Crowley couldn't make out the words. The tone was clearly accusatory, and Crowley knew he was in trouble.

One of the silhouettes approached and with a sharp nail drew a red trail of blood down his throat. "You've been asking for it. did you think we hadn't noticed the way you walk in those tight clothes?"

Panic flooded him. He was used to being in control, feared and respected. But it seemed that things had changed since he last came back to Hell. Of course, most demons were ruthless, brutal even. They took what they wanted, whether or not you were willing to give it to them. Crowley knew this, and he knew things like that often happened in Hell. But he had never thought it could happen to him, he had thought himself too strong, too clever, to ever be attacked like this. And now, as his lungs burned with lack of oxygen they didn't need, Crowley knew, deep down, that he wouldn't be able to get away, to escape his merciless assailants. 

The hand gripped Crowley's throat and he could feel many others on his body, tearing his clothes apart, ruthlessly exposing him. He tried to fight them, but they were too many, too strong. He was overpowered, utterly defenceless and humiliated. Long nails, sharp like claws dug in the tender flesh of his thighs, of his waist, of his torso. Drawing blood and licking it with sticky tongues. He was crying and screaming. His whole body was nothing more than a ball of searing red pain. It felt as if he was torn in half, ripped apart. Bile rose up his throat and he wasn't able to keep it from spilling out his mouth. His dignity was torn to shreds, lying at his feet, stomped on and crushed. Crowley heard them laughing, a deafening cacophony of screeching voices, cackling and shouting venomous insults at him. He felt so dirty. He was covered in blood and tears and sweat. His throat was hoarse from screaming, calling for help, even praying to the God who had forsaken him millennia ago. No one came. He didn't know how long it lasted. Everything was blurry, hazy. He couldn’t breathe, the air never reached his lungs. suffocating, swallowing blood and vomit, chocking on it. It felt as if we were sinking in a deep ocean, deeper and deeper. On the brink of losing consciousness but still vividly feeling all pain travelling through his nerves. And when finally he was left alone, Crowley collapsed on the mucky ground, a desperate sob pushing past his swollen lips.

There was a soft voice calling his name and a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't recognise it, but it felt oddly familiar and extremely comforting. The voice sounded concerned, though. It was talking in a posh accent that Crowley knew he should have recognised. But he couldn't focus sufficiently to match the voice with a name and a face. He only knew he already felt slightly better just hearing it and feeling the kind touch on his arm and shoulder. Crowley frowned, trying to remember who it was. It was someone he had known for a long time, someone he felt safe with… Someone gentle, who cared for him, who loved him… An angel. His angel!

"Aziraphale!" Crowley sobbed as he suddenly sat up on the mattress. He was shivering, the sheets were drenched in sweat and as he opened his eyes, tears came streaming down his cheeks.

In an instant, Aziraphale's arms were wrapped around his shoulder, holding Crowley tightly against his warm, soft chest. "Shhh, dear. You're safe now, I'm here, I promise you I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." He kept rubbing soothing circles up and down Crowley's sides, running a gentle thumb on his ribs.

Crowley couldn't stop crying, though. He had tried, tried to keep his lips sealed and his eyes dry, but he hadn't succeeded. And Aziraphale kept trying to comfort him, to give him all the love and reassurance he could. He kept running his palms soothingly on Crowley's shivering skin, kept pressing feather-light kisses on his shoulders and on the back of his neck, kept murmuring a litany of gentle words. Finally, Crowley didn't have any tears left to spill. But he still wasn't fine, Aziraphale knew it. He sat down against the headboard, opening his arms for Crowley. With the demon safe in his arms, Aziraphale started stroking his back. He buried his face in Crowley's sweaty hair, leaving small kisses on his forehead and his temple. The redhead was starting to breathe more deeply, slowly calming down. He was gripping Aziraphale's shirt in his tight fists, as if he was scared Aziraphale would leave if he didn't hold him back. The angel continued whispering sweet nothings in Crowley's ear, trying to make him feel safe.

"I love you, my dear Crowley. I love you and you are safe. I'll keep you safe, I promise." He tried to keep his voice steady even as his throat burned with tears he stubbornly swallowed back.

He had to be strong for Crowley, even though it broke his heart to see his lover so completely distraught. He, who usually looked so self-assured, looked small and broken in the darkness of Aziraphale's bedroom. He wished Crowley would talk to him, tell him what was plaguing his mind. But he always refused and Aziraphale didn't want to force him. He wanted Crowley to feel safe by his side, and if that meant he would have to reassure his love every night without ever knowing the content of his nightmares, then so be it. But he would still keep on asking, every night this happened.

When Crowley had finally relaxed against his chest, they sat in silence for a moment, Aziraphale gently combing fiery red locks with his fingers. He occasionally pressed a kiss on Crowley's sweat-damp hair or on his tear-stained cheeks. Trying to convey all of his love and warmth with those simple gestures.

"Crowley, love, do you want to talk about it?" Aziraphale asked after a while.

There was a pause and Aziraphale thought that maybe, this time his oldest friend would open up to him, tell him what those terrible dreams were about. But Crowley silently shook his head.

"I'm sorry, angel," Crowley whispered a few seconds later, "I'll tell you one day, I swear. But not now, not tonight. I'm not ready yet. I'm sorry."

Aziraphale didn't know what hurt more: the fact that Crowley was apologising for something he had absolutely no reason being sorry for, or the fact that his voice broke as he did so. Either way, Aziraphale's arms wrapped even tighter around Crowley's thin shoulder, holding him as close to him as he could.

"It's alright, my love. There's no reason to apologise, I promise you. I only want you to know that I'll be there to listen when you're ready to talk to me."

"Thank you for being there, angel. I love you." Crowley whispered, placing a small kiss on Aziraphale's collarbone. He yawned, snuggling even closer to the welcoming warmth of the angel's body.

"Are you tired, dear boy?" Aziraphale asked as he resumed combing Crowley's hair in a soothing way.

Crowley nodded, closing his eyes. Aziraphale moved a bit to lie down on the mattress, taking Crowley with him. He felt safe there, with his head on the angel's torso. But he couldn't relax enough to sleep yet. He wanted to listen to Aziraphale's voice as he drifted off but is angelic lover had already done so much for him, he didn't want to be a burden.

Aziraphale must have felt that Crowley wanted something, though, because he spontaneously asked, "Do you want me to read aloud for you a bit?"

He chuckled softly as Crowley enthusiastically nodded, happy to do something to help his lover relax enough to let go and fall asleep. He reached for the book on the bedside table and turned on the lamp. A dim glow illuminated the room and Aziraphale started reading, creating a comforting atmosphere, wrapping Crowley in a cocoon of warmth and safety.


End file.
